Page 12 of The Curse of Indy Moore
I needed help, as much as I didn’t want to admit it. Dealing with a leaky roof or a sick cow was easy. I had done so a hundred times, always capable of fixing the problem after years of learning from my aunt and uncle. An enjoyment came from dealing with problems without burdening others, with being capable of standing entirely on my own.
But magic, demons, sentient castles, these were uncontrollable and strange, problems I didn’t know how to deal with, and so, I was forced to be a burden. To an artificer of all people, ones who saw anyone without magic as lesser than they could ever be. They sneered at people like me in town, those who couldn’t afford their services and were considered a waste of time. That dress I bought had been from an artificer’s boutique, and she had followed me like a guard followed a known thief.
I didn’t trust him to care, but there weren’t any other options so long as I was trapped in a castle in the sky. I went into an explanation of how the forest changed, the abrupt storm, the wolves, and finally meeting Carline. He listened intently while I carefully spared a handful of details, such as Carline’s offer and my feelings pertaining to it.
By the end, Mr. Thatcher had already brought us our breakfast. “Crossing paths with a demon and escaping. You are in quite the dilemma.”
The appetite I didn’t previously have reared its ugly head. He made eggs sprinkled with a strong chili powder that seared my nostrils along with sizzling bacon and toast slathered in jelly. As delicious as it seemed, I thought of Carline, how she sat across from me, knowing I fell for her trap. But fear didn’t trump hunger as I dug into the meal that soothed my aching stomach.
Mr. Thatcher took a slow drink. “And the curse works quickly.”
“Curse?” I repeated with half a piece of toast and egg sticking out of my mouth.
He donned a lopsided smile. “Your ears.”
“What’s wrong with…” They weren’t there.
I shrieked and dug through my hair. Mr. Thatcher pointed up, that lopsided smile of his stretched to a painful degree. My fingers shifted through the knots of my hair to touch fur.
“My ears!” I rose swiftly enough to knock the chair out from under me. Fluffy dog-like ears twitched atop my head. Tugging on them led only to pain. “Is this a poor joke?”
“I fear not.” Mr. Thatcher reached into his satchel to present a pocket mirror. I flipped it open to gawk at the reflection. A pair of dog ears sprouted from my head, each the same hue as my brown hair.
“Poor thing.” Missy Beamy sat on the table, shaking her head. “To have those ears, what a shame. If only you were blessed to be a cat instead.”
“Neither option is good.” I slammed the mirror on the table.
Why was this happening? Why me? One horrible mishap after the other. My life flickered behind my eyelids like the old picture movies at festivals. The memories faded, but the pain was real. Father not looking back as he abandoned us for a new, better life. An officer towering over me, donning a devilish grin. Mother sick in bed, gaunt and gray. The cut on Uncle Fern’s leg festered with disease. Wolves in the forest, and Carline at my back.
Had I done wrong in a past life? Had I been cursed since the moment I took my first breath? Was that why I couldn’t hold on to a relationship, let alone move forward in my life in any capacity?
“What is all this commotion about?” an unfamiliar voice called out.
“You will see in a moment. We’re in the kitchen,” said Mr. Thatcher.
A stare burned against my back. I didn’t want to meet anyone else. I didn’t want to be there. More than ever, I wanted to go home, curl up in a ball, and cry, even when I knew tears would do nothing.
“A cursed girl in my home? What a treat.” A hand fell on my shoulder as Carline had done. I swung out, but a man caught my wrist. “That is no way to greet your host,” he said, voice smoother than silk, one made to charm.
“She is called Indy Moore, simple as can be,” Miss Beamy said, unimpressed.
“Miss Moore,” the man repeated airily. “Welcome to my home.”
4
Where Indy Meets The Most Insufferable Man
Thestrangerworeafine-pressed suit tailored to perfection, hugging broad shoulders and long legs. His presence screamed luxurious, his rings polished bright and the gems in his ears blinding. Even his nails were impeccably clean, his fingers long and veins prominent atop his cool white skin. A crow with thin green eyes sat on his shoulder, inky black the same as his waved hair. He held tight to my wrist, eyes narrowed and such a dark green, they approached black. Beneath his keen attention, I became an irresistible specimen.
“That is quite the curse you have, isn’t it?” His lips curled into an impish grin.
I relinquished myself from his hold. “You are another artificer, I presume.”
And the one with eccentric tastes. He welcomed me to his home, so he made the castle, not Mr. Thatcher. Though, I suppose they could have constructed the house together, which would be a more believable feat.
The stranger had the presence of one who got what he desired. He was the kind of man most would swoon over while he picked their pockets, smiling all the while. He was the fire seeking to warm and threatening to burn. The first two clasps of his shirt were unbuttoned. Errant strands of black hair brushed over his brows, commanding further attention to his feverish gaze. I didn’t like it, feeling more like a curiosity than a person, another item to stash away in the many rooms of Ivory House.
The crow on his shoulder fluttered down to pick at the remnants of Mr. Thatcher’s toast. Miss Beamy eyed the bird, her tail fluffy and high. I worried there would be an attempted murder, but neither man paid the animals any attention. Either murder was acceptable in this house, or Miss Beamy wasn’t an expert bird catcher, though I dared not say that out of fear of mauling.
